The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 15

Ainslie. Ca’ ye that mainners? Ye’re grand gentry by your way o’t! Eh sirs, my hench! Ay, that was the Badger. Man, but ye’ll look bonnie hangin’! (A faint whistle.) Lord’s sake, what’s thon? Ay, it’ll be Hunt an’ his lads. (Whistle repeated.) Losh me, what gars him whustle, whustle? Does he think me deaf? (Goes up. Brodie enters from office, stands an instant, and sees him making a signal through the arch.)

Brodie. Rats! Rats! (Hides L. among lumber. Enter noiselessly through arch Hunt and Officers.)

Hunt. Birds caught?

Ainslie. They’re a’ ben the house, mister.

Hunt. All three?

Ainslie. The haill set, mister.

Brodie. Liar!

Hunt. Mum, lads, and follow me. (Exit, with his men, into office. Brodie seen with dagger.)

Hunt (within). In the King’s name!

Moore (within). Muck!

Smith (within). Go it, Badger.

Hunt (within). Take ’em alive, boys!

Ainslie. Eh, but that’s awfu’. (The Deacon leaps out, and stabs him. He falls without a cry.)

Brodie. Saved! (He goes out by the arch.)

SCENE IV

Hunt and Officers; with Smith and Moore handcuffed. Signs of a severe struggle

Hunt (entering). Bring ’em along, lads! (Looking at prisoners with lantern.) Pleased to see you again, Badger. And you too, George. But I’d rather have seen your principal. Where’s he got to?

Moore. To hell, I hope.

Hunt. Always the same pretty flow of language, I see, Hump. (Looking at burglary with lantern.) A very tidy piece of work, Dook; very tidy! Much too good for you. Smacks of a fine tradesman. It was the Deacon, I suppose?

Smith. You ought to know G.S. better by this time, Jerry.

Hunt. All right, your Grace: we’ll talk it over with the Deacon himself. Where’s the jackal? Here, you, Ainslie! Where are you? By Jingo, I thought as much. Stabbed to the heart and dead as a herring!

Smith. Bravo!

Hunt. More of the Deacon’s work, I guess? Does him credit too, don’t it, Badger?

Moore. Muck. Was that the thundering cove that peached?

Hunt. That was the thundering cove.

Moore. And is he corpsed?

Hunt. I should just about reckon he was.

Moore. Then, damme, I don’t mind swinging!

Hunt. We’ll talk about that presently. M’Intyre and Stewart, you get a stretcher, and take that rubbish to the office. Pick it up; it’s only a dead informer. Hand these two gentlemen over to Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, with Mr. Jerry Hunt’s compliments. Johnstone and Syme, you come along with me. I’ll bring the Deacon round myself.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT

ACT V

TABLEAU VIII

The Open Door

The Stage represents the Deacon’s room, as in Tableau I. Firelight. Stage dark. A pause. Then knocking at the door, C. Cries without of “Willie!” “Mr. Brodie!” The door is burst open

SCENE I

Doctor, Mary, a Maidservant with lights

Doctor. The apartment is unoccupied.

Mary. Dead, and he not here!

Doctor. The bed has not been slept in. The counterpane is not turned down.

Mary. It is not true; it cannot be true.

Doctor. My dear young lady, you must have misunderstood your brother’s language.

Mary. O no; that I did not. That I am sure I did not.

Doctor (looking at door). The strange thing is … the bolt.

Servant. It’s unco strange.

Doctor. Well, we have acted for the best.

Servant. Sir, I dinna think this should gang nae further.

Doctor. The secret is in our keeping. Affliction is enough without scandal.

Mary. Kind heaven, what does it mean?

Doctor. I think there is no more to be done.

Mary. I am here alone, Doctor; you pass my uncle’s door?